as i mentioned at the top of the month, i'm moving, which is always so much longer and more involved than a single moving day: it's the planning, the sorting, the packing, the cleaning, the move itself, and then the seemingly endless process of unpacking: the organizing, the reshuffling, the decisions about where things will live and which things should be replaced and what doesn't actually work in this new space at all. even the best moves are intensely disruptive, incredibly stressful, take a high toll on bodies and minds and creative energy.
and yet. my partner and i are slowly settling into this new place, making joyful discoveries every day, feeling our bodies gradually unclench as we realize that this is indeed our house, our home, our place. in just a few weeks, we've already had more friends visit than we did in the entire year in our previous apartment, simply because it's actually safe, and clean, with enough space for everyone. i've cooked with more pleasure than i have in months. we're exploring this new neighborhood, this new land, with relish and delight, introducing ourselves to neighbors, learning the trees, finding the water. i'm also resting, listening, trying to be patient as my fried nervous system adjusts to the feeling of safety, of quiet.
it's a slow, necessary process, the establishing and tending of roots.
so much of my life has involved rooting into other people: communities, chosen family, friends, lovers. in many ways i've always been too transient to root into earth, moved homes too many times to ever fully settle into a place. my roots have necessarily been in water instead: heart roots, roots of relationship and compassion, of vulnerability and sensitivity, of faith and love and care and devotion.
i've spent so long building roots in water that i've almost forgotten how to let my roots delve into the earth. yet these new tender shoots, these tentative but eager anchors, are slowly exploring, showing me what it means to trust in a place again.
adding earthy, physical roots, the tap roots of home and neighborhood and also hopefully of health and wealth, doesn’t mean that my water roots wither. no, my hope instead is that all of my roots continue to be fortified, to offer stability as those bigger, stronger earth roots take hold, expand, dig deep. having a firm foundation that’s grounded in something bigger, rather than a watery container that i scoop up and carry from place to place, feels so beautiful, so needed, so healing.